


She Changed Everything

by flora_tyronelle



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Everything that happens in the first book will happen in this, F/M, It's a rewrite of the first book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:01:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flora_tyronelle/pseuds/flora_tyronelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Divergent- from Four's point of view. Following all of his internal struggles as he tries to overcome the evils of a system where being different is dangerous and his personal demons, etc. etc.<br/>I JUST WANTED TO WRITE FOUR OK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: suicidal thoughts.  
> Buckle up, people, it's going to be a long ride! This is a very short first chapter, but we'll see how it goes. I have a bit of a soft spot for Four. Please, please leave feedback! I love feedback, it makes my day.   
> I will always try to include trigger warnings in the chapter notes so you can avoid if necessary.  
> NB I'm not massively active in the Divergent fandom- this is my first fic! Obviously I am referencing directly from the book for most things, but if some things (such as Four's past) aren't canon, please let me know and I'll fix it.

                There is stillness in the dark: blue lanterns behind, the late afternoon sun dropping a little light down from the crater in the ceiling far above. Not that any of the unfortunate initiates above will be able to discern anything more than ten metres below their rooted feet. That’s the point. The hole represents the unknown, it represents fear. Each of the factions would deal with it in a different way: Abnegation would look to their consciences, examine whether jumping would benefit somebody else; Candor would question the instructor, trying to determine the surety of their safety; Amity would focus on those around them, ignore the potential threat, cover their discomfort with kindness; Erudite would look to the skies or drop a probe down, escaping their powerlessness via knowledge, an accumulation of facts. Only Dauntless would dare run straight at the edge and leap. Where do the teenagers on the rooftop belong? The first real test begins now. The Dauntless wait, silently, so as not to give away the guarantee of a safe landing, and Four keeps his eyes focused on the jagged rim of concrete way above.

                He remembers the way his stomach tried to crawl into his throat as he confronted the precipice, the way his hands shook, the way his teeth seemed to lock together in battle. Eric probably jeered before he stepped out into thin air, but that wasn’t what had driven him to jump. The wind had been too loud in his ears. The voice in his head had been too damn loud, the voice of a vicious old man, and it had yelled and yelled and yelled. How many times had he thought about this? How many times had he imagined sinking under the water in the bath tub, finding a razor in a cupboard and pressing, scaling the sides of the Hub and launching through the air like some doomed bird? _He’d thought about that every night, seeing the glow of the pinnacle from his window_. But he’d been too afraid to do it back then, too _Abnegation_ to entertain such thoughts of selfish-sacrifice. But he was Abnegation no longer. He could never be good enough for that place, for that house, for the voice in his head. But, he’d thought maniacally, at least jumping would shut the voice up, either way. His feet had walked forward, all by themselves. And then he’d been falling.

                There’s movement up there. A tiny figure is standing on the edge. They are poised, but not looking straight down like most do. They make some kind of motion, but it’s too far to make out exactly what they’re doing. One second passes. Two.

“Here we go.” Somebody mutters.

And high over their heads, the first initiate drops.

                It takes a little over three seconds for the body to travel the full distance, for the net to stretch out, cradling its first offering in such a gentle way. Four reflects that this is probably the last gentleness this initiate will see for some time: Dauntless is many things, but gentle is not one- as several people scramble forward to help pull them from the webbing embrace. Whoever they are, they’re laughing from the adrenaline high dashing through their veins. He remembers that as well, although he didn’t laugh. Rather, he lay there dazed and flatly surprised to not be dead- but, details, details. All that mattered was that he hadn’t been totally wrong- the voice had quietened significantly, and it stayed quiet as hands had dragged him out and upright, as his old name had been announced to the waiting crowd. In a strange poetry, that’s now _his_ job. But first he has to dive forward, arms outstretched, and grab the First Jumper before she smacks face-first onto the floor. She’s solid in his arms, and as he sets her upright a little more of her hair escapes from her bun. Her _Abnegation_ bun.

                Tobias- _Four_ \- holds her gaze out of pure surprise. She looks young, oval face, neat features that are slightly out of proportion. Her eyes look like they could swallow you whole, blue wells that are over-large and wide from the thrill of the past few hours. Four takes his hands off her normally, despite feeling like the grey fabric of her t-shirt could burn his palms. Her mouth moves.

“Thank you.”

Four does not have to reply to this, so he doesn’t. Lauren breaks the silence, totally unaware of any thin ice that she might be running out onto.

“Can’t believe it.” The Abnegation girl turns to face her, and Four _feels_ her look, that look of surprise at Lauren’s multiple piercings up close, feels it somewhere deep in his brain that he doesn’t venture any more. Lauren carries on, oblivious. “A Stiff, the first to jump? Unheard of.”

 _Not quite unheard of, Lauren_. But he has no desire to say that out loud, so he comes out with something that will sound like Four, the first-class initiate, the undoubtable Dauntless that he has become.

“There’s a reason why she left them, Lauren. What’s your name?”

The dark pools stir, shuttered a few times by rapid blinks. She looks so unsure, and Four feels it again, feels her grey exterior cracking and a slick, shiny new life pressing outwards in an intoxicating rise.

“Think about it,” he tells her, a slight smile starting before he can stop it. “You don’t get to pick again.”

She takes it in, thinks about it. Weighing her decision.

“Tris.” Her voice already sounds louder, adjusting from the stifling politeness of Abnegation, finding her own volume. Lauren grins at her.

“Tris. Make the announcement, Four.”

Four turns away from them, addressing the mass of black clothes and anticipatory faces in the cavern below them. He lets his voice ring out- everyone needs to hear this.

“First jumper- Tris!”

Cheering rolls up to meet them, roars and yells of congratulation. Four watches Tris’s face transform as the sound crashes around her, watches her features set open in a kind of cautious wildness. He reaches for her before he can stop himself.

“Welcome to Dauntless.” He keeps his voice quiet, low enough for her to hear, his palm just below her shoulder blades. He can still feel her shaking, but she doesn’t seem to notice it. When she turns her still-forming grin on him, he forgets the feeling of the grey Abnegation fabric under his skin. He forgets she was ever Abnegation at all.

There’s a scream from behind them and the Second Jumper, the one nobody remembers, is plummeting down into their new life. Four removes his hand from Tris’s back, and almost regrets it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tris is First Jumper- what next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings- mention of a physically abusive parent (Marcus) right at the end.  
> We just keep rolling on! Literally twice the word count of the previous chapter. I hope you enjoy!

                Four knows these corridors better than the arteries that lead to his beating heart, but walking them today there seems to be a shift in the air: a strange pull towards the crowd of initiates who made it down from the roof, a nagging urge to turn and watch the First Jumper who follows among them. She _really_ doesn’t require any attention from him. She’s just another face in the training room, another kid who’ll learn a lesser known law of motion: act first, or be acted on. The thought makes him feel strangely uncomfortable.

                They reach the crossroads with the passage that leads to the firing range, and everyone draws to a halt. A few initiates stumble, taken by surprise. Lauren snorts softly, then speaks up.

                “This is where we divide. The Dauntless-born initiates are with me. I assume _you_ don’t need a tour of the place.”

                Four watches them peel off in a mass of teenage limbs, following the silver flash of Lauren’s piercings. They are divided in more ways than one: they don’t need a tour, and they’ve been training with combative strategies since they were young. They are on home ground, and they know it. Four knows he’ll have a battle on his hands just to get any of the nervous-looking transfers shuffling in front of him through initiation. Wryly, he reflects that it’s a good thing he enjoys a challenge.

                Tris catches his eye again. She’s staring around at her peers, those wide eyes scanning them carefully. Four regards her for a brief second. Some of those around her will become her friends, some her enemies. But, as she will soon discover, they are all her competitors, and she had better not forget it.

                “Most of the time I work in the control room,” Four addresses the nine initiates, commanding their attention, “but for the next few weeks, I will be your instructor. My name is Four.”

                A Candor transfer cannot contain herself. “Four? Like the number?”

                He will give her the benefit of the doubt on the first occasion. “Yes. Is there a problem?”

               “No.” She has short black hair and she’s not cowed in the slightest, staring straight back at him.

               “Good. We’re about to go into the Pit, which you will someday learn to love.” As he’d learned to love it, learned to love the exhilaration of the everyday being something wildly risky. “It-”

               There’s a snicker, and Candor girl oversteps the mark. “The Pit? Clever name.”

               She’s not going to last five minutes in Dauntless if she doesn’t learn to shut her mouth and as her instructor, it’s up to Four to teach her that. He has a natural understanding of how to use his body to impress, to intimidate, and he uses it now (he ignores who taught him that, who showed him how to frighten, learning through example). Candor girl visibly shrinks as he draws near. He waits long enough for her pulse rate to pick up, subtly crowding her personal space, tautening his stare.

              “What’s your name?” His voice is quiet.

              “Christina.” She squeaks, all of her honest bluster quite blown away.

              “Well, Christina,” He tells her, and his voice is now quieter still, more sibilant, more menacing, because if she doesn’t learn _now_ \- “If I wanted to put up with Candor smart-mouths,”- it’s a calculated insult, an Erudite insult if ever he’s heard one, but it works because she wilts, “I would have joined their faction. The first lesson you will learn from me is to keep your mouth shut.” And you will learn it right now, _Christina_. “Got that?”

              She nods. Most of her confidence has left her frame. Four would almost feel guilty, but he did it for her own good. Dauntless take death or glory very seriously- and glory doesn’t involve backchatting your superiors. He turns away without another word and leads them down the final stretch, into the Pit. He stands aside as they take it in, the madness, the fragility, the frantic speed and disorderliness. So different from what they’re used to, he guesses. Well, he _knows_ it’s different for Tris. She’s next to mouthy Christina, and her face is have scared, half filled with wonder. Four feels a slight pang in his chest: this was how he should have looked, the first time he pushed through the double doors. The face of a teenager, not the face of an old man who couldn’t feel any more. He pushes the thought away.

             “If you follow me, I’ll show you the chasm.” He orders them, and they fall in behind as he strides across the floor of the Pit. Time to shake them up a little.

             They gather around the railing, each trying to not look like they’re scared as the river roars in their ears. Four draws in a breath, to make sure they all hear this, the most important lesson of all.

             “The chasm reminds us that there is a fine line between bravery and idiocy!” They’re all looking at him, at least those who can tear their eyes away from the white water spraying below. He carries on. “A daredevil jump off this ledge will end your life. It has happened before and it will happen again.” It happened during Four’s initiation. A foolish jump, they said. Of course, there was no proof that Sammy hadn’t been wrenched from his bed at one in the morning, gagged and dragged to the slippery edge. Tossed in like a sack of rubbish. Four will see that it doesn’t happen this year, it’s his promise to himself. “You’ve been warned.”

             Christina and Tris exchange a handful of words; the others stay silent.

             Satisfied that they’ll not attempt to go swimming any time soon, Four leads them back across the Pit, into the canteen. They’ll have their taste of glory today: the Dauntless value their transfers, in a strange way, and they yell and clap as the nine initiates enter and look around. Some of the kids look surprised, others touched. Four could laugh. Yes, the Dauntless value transfers- but they’ll still expect you to give them everything. A different faction of birth earns them the opposite of kid gloves: they’ll have to work harder to prove themselves. But all of that seems far away now as they take their seats amongst continued cheering. Four chooses a seat- Christina almost sits next to him, but thinks better of it- and the gap she leaves is filled by Tris. Four ignores her for all of two seconds before her confusion at Dauntless food permeates his mind (he remembers it too, remembers staring at his plate and carefully watching the way the other transfers handled these luxuries so casually), and he intervenes. He nudges her softly with his elbow, to catch her attention, and then demonstrates the technique for building a hamburger.

           “You’ve never had a hamburger before?” Christina asks her, shocked, and Four feels an irrational pinch of anger. How Candor, to be so ignorant of Abnegation customs. And to call Tris out on it, to underline how different she already is from everyone else when she was the bravest of them all in the face of the first test. Tris doesn’t seem bothered, but Four isn’t sure he’d be able to tell either way.

           “No,” She replies, her face crinkling a little as she stares at her food, “Is that what it’s called?” There it is, that little chink of vulnerability.

                “Stiffs eat plain food.” Four is speaking to Christina before he can decide if it’s a good idea, convincing himself that he’s expanding Christina’s knowledge of other factions, when really he hopes to shield Tris for a few seconds, to give her time to adjust.

                “Why?” Christina asks, confusion evident in her voice. Four resists the temptation to roll his eyes, but Tris handles it.

                “Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary.” She says with a shrug, her voice even. It’s as though she can’t even see the potential threat in Christina’s words, the possibility of being singled out purely for where she came from. Well, Four thinks grimly, she’ll learn.

                Christina seems to decide to let it go. “No wonder you left.”

                “Yeah,” Tris says, and she actually rolls her eyes, and it’s this little gesture that makes Four want to smile, “It was just because of the food.”

                However, Tris will have to wait to eat her first luxury item: a hush falls, such an alien concept to this new Dauntless, as Someone Of Authority strides into the canteen. The new initiates twist in their chairs, taking in their first glimpse of Dauntless Leadership- but Four knows who it is. He knows from the soft clack of heavy shoes, heavy shoes but light footsteps in the quiet of the large room. They draw closer, as Four guessed they would. He looks up to acknowledge Eric, but they say nothing. There is nothing he wishes to say to this man.

                “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me?” Eric drawls, as self-possessed and pierced as ever, and Four stares him down. It’s about all he can do.

“This is Tris and Christina.” He replies in a neutral tone. Eric eyes them like he’s a hawk and they are new, tasty morsels.

“Ooh, a Stiff.” He smirks at Tris. Four’s stomach clenches a little. “We’ll see how long you last.”

                And Tris, the girl who is frighteningly brave becomes frightened, the girl who stood so tall on the edge of a rooftop crumples, the girl who seems to have stuck fast inside Four’s brain becomes so awfully small under those words. Four’s free hand grips tight under the table, where nobody can see. Tap, tap, tap, go Eric’s fingernails against the Formica surface.

                “What have you been doing lately, Four?” He asks, poison swilling around in the space between his words, contempt showing through the holes stretching in his lips with every syllable. It’s the way they’ve talked since the first day they met. Four is used to it. He lifts a shoulder, barely taking notice of his rival’s presence to one side. “Nothing, really.” Nothing that you don’t already know about, he adds, silently.

                “Max tells me he keeps trying to meet with you, and you don’t show up.” There it is, the real reason Eric has deigned to be on a level with him now: Max’s attack dog is here to drag him back to his master. The sad thing is, Max doesn’t seem to realise that Eric is slowly chewing through the leash. “He requested that I find out what’s going on with you.” Eric finishes, coolly staring at Four’s ear as Four stares at the chipped edge of the serving platter.

                He’s not about to give in, he’ll never give in to whatever the New Dauntless Leaders have planned for him. He has a feeling, deep in his gut, that it will be something that will make him sick. The thought gives him enough strength to look up, meet the steel of Eric’s eyes.

                “Tell him that I am satisfied with the position I currently hold.”

                “So he wants to give you a job.” This is not a question. Eric knows where Max and Four stand- he’s simply toying, playing for his own amusement.

                “So it would seem.” Eric will have to do better than that if he’s going to make him rise to the bait.

                “And you aren’t interested.”

                _Never have, never will be_. “I haven’t been interested for two years.”

                “Well, let’s hope he gets the point, then.” Eric’s hand slaps him around the shoulders, as much violence as he can feasibly fit into such a gesture, and then he stands up and strides off. Before Four can feel the sting across his shoulder blade, he senses Tris slump slightly next to him, the tension rushing out of her. Clearly, she’s a smart kid, if Eric makes her nervous.

                “Are you two… friends?”

                Well, she’s a smart kid- with a Stiff’s ‘ability’ to read a social situation. Four gives her a non-answer, because knowing too much about Dauntless politics is not good for anyone.

                “We were in the same initiate class. He transferred from Erudite.”

                And he’d been conniving and vicious right from day one. What he hadn’t realised was that there was someone else alongside him who was just as dead inside, and just as prepared to take every risk: but because he’d believed he had nothing to lose, rather than everything to gain.

                “Were you a transfer too?”

                Oh, that girl. Tris, you’re going to have to learn to stop asking questions.

                “I thought I would only have trouble with the Candor asking too many questions.” He tells her flatly. “Now I’ve got Stiffs, too?”

                He expects her to shut up like Christina earlier, like she did around Eric. Good. Silence is much less deadly than a wide mouth. To his amazement, she doesn’t.

                “It must be because you’re so approachable.” She says, wide-eyed and sharply sarcastic. “You know. Like a bed of nails.”

                Four looks up, fixing Tris with his gaze. She stares back, a blush slowly blotching up her cheeks. He has so many things that he wants to say to her. _Are you really a Stiff, or did you swap clothes on the train for a laugh?_ Or simply: _What is wrong with you?_ And a small niggling suspicion that is just starting at the back of his mind, one that he whispers even in the privacy of his own head- _Are you…?_

                Instead, he simply tells her, “Careful, Tris.”

                He feels her eyes follow her as he gets up to join Shauna and Tyler on another table. Just before he passes out of earshot, he hears Christina say something along the lines of, “Have you got a death wish?” He half wants to laugh. _Yes, Tris_ , he asks her silently, _have you got a death wish?_

_***_

                Hours later, Tobias Eaton cowers in front of a simulation of his father as the belt whistles towards his face, and considers dying. A death wish. Perhaps he and Tris have too much in common. He cringes before the blow lands, picturing the deep, dark wells of her eyes and praying he can drown there, quick and painless. The blow arrives- it always arrives- but it seems to sting a little less. He drowns until the simulation finally powers down and he can escape back into the real world: the welts on his back fading into his imagination, and he tells himself it’s just another failed attempt at the final barriers he faces in his Dauntless world. He tells himself that it was just the shock of seeing another Abnegation transfer that made Tris’s eyes come to mind as he confronted Simulation Marcus. No other reason. She’s just another Stiff out of water.

                _Just like you were,_ a voice in his head whispers.

                He ignores it, and walks back to his room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day in the training room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how I enjoyed putting a gun to Peter's head. Just a short little chapter! Thank you all for stopping by and reading on, it means a lot.

                Nine teenagers stand behind the white line; one stands in front. Eight of the initiates already have their fingers wrapped around the cold black metal of a gun. Some, like the hulking boy from Candor, stare at it like it’s a snake waiting to bite them. Others barely look awake. Four hands the gun in his right hand to Tris, who stands in the middle of the line, but keeps his eyes on the others and a gun in his other hand. There’s no need to look at her. No need to tug at the suspicion that shadows the back of his mind, something stuck between his mental teeth, an idea that hovers as a dark cloud.

                “The first thing you will learn today is how to shoot a gun.” He tells them, although that should be pretty self-explanatory. “The second thing is how to win a fight.” He meets the eyes of a dark-haired Erudite transfer, who watches him back with surety in his gaze. Interesting. An Erudite who thinks he can fight. “Thankfully, if you are here, you already know how to get on and off a moving train, so I don’t need to teach you that.” They are all too scared or too tired to laugh. Fine.

               “Initiation is divided into three stages.” Four carries on pacing slowly up the line, enunciating each word carefully. “We will measure your progress and rank you according to your performance in each stage. The stages are not weighed equally in determining your final rank, so it is possible, though difficult, to drastically improve your rank over time.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tris eyeing the weapon in her hand. She looks wary. Why does it matter to him? “We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice, which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear.” Less emphasis on acting the right way, nowadays. But refusing a leadership position is as far as Four can go in protest, so he repeats what they want him to say, albeit in his own way. “Therefore each stage of intiation is intended to prepare you in a different way. The first stage is primarily physical; the second, primarily emotional; the third, primarily mental.” At this, one of the Candor transfers speaks up.

              “But what…” The boy doesn’t even bother to stifle a yawn, the barrel of his gun pointed at his foot, “What does firing a gun have to do with… bravery?”

              Easy question, Peter. Four stops alongside him, and in a sinuous movement has the remaining firearm raised, the metal lips of the cylinder nudging the boy’s forehead almost like a kiss. There’s a bullet lodged in the chamber. The room takes on a special kind of quiet, and Four watches those green eyes sparkle with fear.

              “Wake. Up.” Four snaps out each word, his arm steady, holding Peter over a mental precipice. “You are holding a loaded gun, _you idiot_. Act like it.” He gives a moment for his words to fade, to lodge permanently in the minds of the initiates. Then he slowly lowers the gun.

              “And to answer your question…” He stares round at the initiates, resuming his measured steps, “You are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you’re prepared to defend yourself.” _Soil your pants_. An unfortunate turn of Abnegation phrase, but Four doubts any of the initiates will notice- a threat to put a bullet in one of their fellows tends to overshadow things somewhat. It’s an empty threat, but they don’t know that. That’s the point. He reaches the end of the row, turns on his heel. “This is also information you may need later in stage one.” Like a Lower Levels teacher, dropping hints for a pop quiz. At least they are all paying attention now- even Peter’s hard gaze is fixed on him. “So, watch me.”

              Four has often heard people say that they find it harder to demonstrate a skill when they’re being watched by others, but it makes no difference to him. He settles into a firing position, and it’s like sliding on an old piece of clothing: one that fits well, one that makes him feel comfortable and in control. He braces for the recoil, grips the pistol with both hands, and breathes the bullet out in an easy pull of the trigger. He doesn’t need to look, but he does anyway: dead central, dead straight. Dead, if his target had been living. He moves out of the way, and gives a signal for the initiates to start firing.

              Most of them are, as Four expected, appalling. It doesn’t really matter. In some ways, yes, firing a gun is about building courage, about finding confidence in yourself and your own ability, and the Dauntless love it. But in other ways, this first morning is just showboating, a way to impress new initiates. Look at how fearless we are, putting a gun in your hands right from the word go! _That’s_ how fearless you have to be. Four therefore doesn’t give them any instructions, apart from letting them watch as he reloads their weapons. In some ways, firing a gun requires a very low level of competence, even firing with some semblance of accuracy. As long as nobody actually gets shot he is content to lean against the wall and watch.

              They all show signs of improvement after the first hour: Myra and Al, in particular, are getting very good at bracing for the recoil and recovering quickly afterwards. The only one who is still (stubbornly, Four thinks, whether she realises it or not- because any good Abnegation kid would never lay their hands on a gun in a million years) aiming apparently at random is Tris. Every shot knocks her off balance and her target is totally uninjured, although Four is half-worried for those around her. She doesn’t appear to become frustrated though- she just keeps firing. _Ten out of ten for persistence, Stiff_ , Four thinks. The boy in the lane next to her, who is blonde and good-looking, engages her in conversation, and as Four watches- _there_. A little flash of irritation, a setting of her jaw. This time, when she fires, she stays planted and her shot aims true. The boy, Will, makes a comment and she smiles slightly, leaving Four to wonder at why his anger hasn’t abated yet- because with a smile like that she wasn’t being given a hard time. She doesn’t need his protection, he tells himself. But that doesn’t stop him from throwing glances her way during lunch, watching her grow out beyond her grey clothes as she laughs with Christina and the boy with blonde hair.

***

              Teaching combat is one of Four’s favourite things. There is power in showing another how to use their body to defend themselves, an elegance in the mechanics of incapacitating an opponent. He even appreciates the slog of landing blow after blow on the cracked leather of a punching bag, the relentless gruelling effort of conditioning muscles to be ready to fight at a single pulse of adrenaline, because it’s the kind of work that pays in visible currency. For him, it’s the surety of knowing anyone who tries to best him will fail. For these kids, it’s the only way they can hope to have a future here. He surveys them, already less young and innocent than they were when they woke up. Their hands have been blackened by gunpowder- soon they will be stained with sweat and blood, as they give everything they have.

              “As I said this morning, next you will learn how to fight. The purpose of this is to prepare you to act; to prepare your body to respond to threats and challenges- which you will need, if you intend to survive life as Dauntless.” Survive life as an initiate, more like. Once they’ve made it through the next few weeks, then they can worry about life as Dauntless “We will go over technique today, and tomorrow you will start to fight each other. So I recommend that you pay attention. Those who don’t learn fast will get hurt.” Four briefly recalls the first time he knocked someone out, the feeling of lightning crackling in his stinging arms, the sight of Shauna slumped on the floorboards at his feet. Then he pushes the memory away and begins to show the initiates the proper execution of a right hook.

              He takes them through the absolute basics of using your anatomy to hurt people, then wanders amongst them, correcting their technique. A small voice in the back of his head tells him to avoid Tris, but he ignores it. She’s just another initiate to him. But he can still notice the little tells when he stops in front of her, scanning the way she lacks power in her swing (the way her shoulders tensed as he came near), the lack of rotation she can add to her kicks (the little crease above her eyes as she stares fixedly at the punching bag that wasn’t there before), the way her abdomen is loose and sloppy and causing her blows to have as much effect as bullet made of flower petals.

              “You don’t have much muscle,” he tells her, and he would know that there’s no need for physical strength in Abnegation, no call for athleticism, “which means you’re better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them.” She freezes in place. In this light, her eyes are paler, more clouded sky than deep pools. Four carefully places his hand across her abdominals, feeling the quick rise and fall of her breath under his palm. She is so small.

              “Never forget to keep tension here.” He tells her quietly. Then he releases her and walks off to where Edward, the fighting Erudite, pummels the leather cylinder into submission. He wonders if he’s merely imagining Tris’s gaze following him, her eyes that contain a stormy sky sending dark clouds his way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Another short one.  
> Trigger warnings: physical violence.

The training room hasn't changed in the two years that Four has been the trainer, rather than trainee. It is as functional as the Dauntless require, rough and unpainted and prone to sharp drafts sneaking in through the gaps of the door. The discomfort that Four has to mask is partly due to the temperature, but mostly down to Eric's smirking presence in the corner. _Malign wouldn't be too strong a word_ , Four thinks. But he doubts that any of the initiates here this morning are shivering from the cold, however. He finishes chalking names together on the blackboard (he privately refers to it as the kill bill, but the initiates will find that out soon enough) and turns to face them. Turns to face Tris, in particular, so that he can see the apprehension drop from her face as she notices the gap next to her name. He has tried to justify himself since he made the decision, early this morning, but he can't. In some ways, he doesn't want to. Isn't it just proof that he's human?

"Since there an odd number of you, one of you won't be fighting today." He tells them, and watches the ripples shiver outwards in murmurs and nudges: a first testing of alliances, a cementing of foes. Will, the good-looking blonde, and Al, the biggest initiate, walk towards each other uncertainly and square off. Will's stance is weak, Four notes, but his eyes are steely. They begin to circle, confined by the chalk arena. Four forcibly removes his attention from Tris, who is conversing in whispers with Christina, and focuses on the fight to come.

Al makes the first swing, and Four is pleased, given that's what Four told him to do yesterday. The kid is big and slow and still very much a kid, but he's all power. _If you can, floor them before the fight even starts_. Unfortunately, Al's blow catches the strong part of Will's jaw and glances off: Will stumbles, but he's not down. He even manages to block Al's next blow, even though absorbing that force is clearly painful. Four can see him thinking, hopefully of the advice he received yesterday: a different variation of 'Floor him', but get him down, all the same. This is part of Dauntless, the reaction to physical pain and adrenaline, a part that he appreciates. Will darts forwards and acts, hooking Al's leg and sending him crashing to the floor. Now! Four urges, silently, but Will is too slow and Al is back on his feet and unlikely to allow Will inside his guard again. This is the turning moment, where the fight has been won or lost. Except the two initiates don't seem to be aware of that.

"Do you think this is a leisure activity? Should we break for naptime?" Eric taunts. "Fight each other!"

"But..." Al lapses out of fighting stance, and Four knows he was right to pair him with Will. Anyone else (except maybe for Tris) would have decked him at that instant, taking advantage of his distraction. It's what Four would have done. "Is it scored or something? When does the fight end?"

Eric answers, because that's what Eric does.

"It ends when one of you is unable to continue." He sounds exasperated.

Four is not about to let that pass if he can help it.

"According to Dauntless rules, one of you can also concede." He says, quietly, and he is conscious of walking the line between acceptable subservience and outright challenge. Like a wolf pack, he wouldn't put it past Eric to rip his throat out.

"According to the _old_ rules." Eric's eyes are narrowed, but Four can tell this is still half a game to him, so he isn't yet in danger. "In the new rules, no one concedes."

Four doesn't even know why he's pushing anymore, but he thinks he still has one counter-argument before Eric arranges for a very nasty accident to occur.

"A brave man acknowledges the strength of others."

"A brave man never surrenders." There's a tautening in Eric's tone that shows Four he's gone as far as he can, but he holds his ground. They stare each other down, just like they used to when they trained together here.

"This is ridiculous." Al pipes up, and Four curses a blue streak in his head. The remotest chance that Eric might have backed down vanishes along with the silence. "What's the point of beating him up?" Al steamrollers on, "We're in the same faction!"

Before things can get very nasty indeed, Will inadvertently saves them.

"Oh, you think it's going to be that easy?" There's a grin on his face, but his eyes are even harder now. "Go on. Try to hit me, slowpoke." Satisfied with his goading, he drops back into a combative position, and Al follows suit.

Unfortunately, Will is not rewarded for his timely intervention. He lands a meaningless kick to Al's back, but Al _finally_ channels his strength and.... Will is out cold before he can dart out of the way again.

Instantly, the atmosphere shifts. Four has seen it a hundred times, been inside it on more occasions than he cares to remember, but it never fails to surprise him. All of the fight goes out of Al: his aggression is replaced with concern. He gently taps the other boy's cheek, but there's no response. Four didn't think the punch was hard enough to cause permanent damage, but it's possible he was wrong...

Thankfully, he isn't. After a silent seconds, Will stirs, pale green eyes dazed, and Four breathes again.

"Get him up." Eric snaps, a look of cruel pleasure twisting his features, adding to the grotesqueness. Four remembers another Erudite transfer telling him the word that described Eric one night at the edge of the arena: sadist. One who enjoys pain inflicted or inflicting pain on others. It makes his guts twist to think that this man could be in charge of Dauntless in a handful of years. Nevertheless, he rolls the chalk in his fingers before marking the victory over Al's name.

"Next up- Molly and Christina!" Wouldn't want the show to stop, would we, Eric, Four thinks, savagely, as he crosses to where Al is dragging Will's prone figure. Four swiftly peers into Will's still vague gaze, and decides to take him out. The kid needs to be checked over by a doctor: there's no point in training concussed initiates. He slings Will's arm over his shoulders and lifts him up slowly, holding him at the waist to keep him steady. Last year, he'd done this too quickly and the girl had thrown up. It's not an experience he's keen to repeat. They shuffle steadily towards the door, Al's stare burning into their backs.

***

Four doesn't realise his mistake until he bumps into Eric in the Pit on the way back from the infirmary.

"Some real dead weight this year, _Four_." Eric is smiling, his eyes sparking a little in the dim blue light- although apparently he isn't happy enough to neglect the sneering way he says his name. Four stares back at him, because he knows that nothing he can say will stop Eric telling him whatever it is he wants to.

"Candor smart-mouth thought she wanted to give up; I showed her that she didn't." He smiles wider, as though he's done Dauntless a great favour, and Four goes cold. "But I doubt she'll last long. Her and her Stiff friend." He walks away before Four can say anything, before he can fight down the bile that scorches the back of his throat.

He watches the footage late that night, alone in the control room, observing, like some Erudite scientist, Christina beg for mercy and miss death by an inch. The sight repulses him, makes hatred boil inside his heart- yet all the while, he can see Tris. He can see her shouting to Christina, shouting to the girl who could be her rival, telling her not to give up, pulling her out when finally Eric lets them forward. His heart contracts once, tightly. Tris. Oh, that girl.


End file.
